Isn't it better ?
by EmmanuelleG
Summary: Morbid one-shot. Erik offers Christine a very special gift, but it's so dark and she has difficulty finding it.


I've never wrote one-shots before, here's my first one. It's morbid, you've been warned.

* * *

**Isn't ****it better ?**

''Erik, where are you ?''

''On your left, my dear.''

She patted the wall, searching for whatever softness she could find. It was strange; once she recoiled from his touch and now craved it. But after being trapped for months in utter darkness her mind snapped, and so she sought comfort. He told her there was a candle, somewhere. She could feel it's' warmth but could not catch even a faint glimpse of it.

''Erik, what is that present you talked about ?''

A chuckle. ''Ah, but you are quite curious. Keep on searching.''

She wondered if he could see her and so frowned. ''It's so dark. I can't see a thing, and my eyes hurt.''

''Keep on searching, keep on searching.''

And she did. Slowly she slid down the wall, her hands patting the ground. He was probably talking about the candle. She so desperately wanted to find it. Suddenly her hands met with something pleasant, it vaguely reminded the Swedish country girl of melting snow. When the flame of the candle was brought too close to the white substance it slowly transformed to cool and then lukewarm water.

''Erik, why can't I see the candle ?''

''But can't you feel it ?''

She tensed the moment his hands lingered on her shoulders, pulling her closer. She could smell the melting wax and it vaguely reminded her of Church. Some of the substance fell on the floor where her own hands were and she touched it. It burned her skin a little.

''I can feel it, Erik.''

''Good.''

''Where is my gift, Erik ? I can't see it, it's so dark. It's been dark since yesterday. Are you out of candles ? Is it your last one ?''

''Keep on searching.''

The liquid she earlier felt on her hands had dried, leaving her hands sticky. Christine brought them up and wiped the annoying fluid from them, using her skirts as a handkerchief. It wasn't how a lady would act but surely Erik wouldn't see. She herself couldn't. Slowly she attempted to stand, using the wall as a support, and stumbled forwards. The shoes Erik offered her were very comfortable, now however she experienced a certain difficulty wearing them. There was something clinging to them, something on the floor, and so she just kicked them off.

''Erik !'' She cried out. ''I can't see ! I need some light. Where is my gift ? Why is the floor wet ?''

''Ah, but where would be the fun then ? You are very close now, Christine.''

Sighing, she continued her frantic search. Slowly she lowered herself to her knees once more because the wetness was at her feet level and she presumed the present was too. Her hands reached forward, caressing the Persian carpet which was now soaked and tugged on it. Strangely she didn't succeed in pulling it to her; something very heavy was lying upon it. Now breathing heavily, almost panting, Christine's movements became more agitated. She was so close, so close, she could feel it.

Her palms were then pressed against something very soft and warm and so-

''Erik !'' She gasped. ''Erik, what's wrong with you ? Erik, are you alright ?''

''I am quite fine. Thank you, my dear.''

The voice came from her right, caressing her ear softly. His breath was then felt on her neck and Christine shuddered. Her hands traveled up until they met thick hair.

''Erik, why are you laying on the floor ?'' She murmured, now trembling.

His voice now sounded far away. ''I am not on the floor, Christine.''

''But-but, yes ! Yes, you are, I can feel you ! Here's your neck…''

To prove her point her fingers dug into the warm skin. But as she did so more warm liquid covered her hands. Shaking, Christine brought them up to her face. The smell was strange, it was metallic.

''Erik,'' She murmured, ''Your hair isn't that long.''

She continued caressing what she presumed was Erik. Her fingertips traced his lips and they were full and soft, nothing like the two thin lines she saw when she first tore the mask from his face. And the skin of his cheeks suddenly seemed flawless to her, she even rejoiced in touching it.

''Erik, you don't wear any rings.'' She said absentmindedly.

Christine slipped one of them from his fingers and began tracing it lovingly. It seemed to her that the pattern she felt was familiar. There was a curve which created a swan's wing, then his elongated neck and finally head. She had seen the image before, only for now her mind was too confused.

''It's the de Chagny's family emblem.'' She gasped. ''Erik, why do you wear Raoul's ring ?''

Hands touched her shoulders then slowly descend to finally run up and down her covered arms. She shuddered and reached for them but before she could touch his wrists he was gone.

''I do not wear his ring.''

He made her fingers trail feather-like touches all over his own. It wasn't long until she was trembling and sobbing.

''I don't understand, I don't understand !'' Her cries turned to hysteric screaming. ''Oh my God, Raoul !''

She collapsed close to the inert body, searching desperately for his chest. When it was done Christine pressed her ear to it. But no beating was heard, not even a faint quiver of air escaped his lips.

''Your lover is dead.'' The emotionless voice of her teacher declared behind her. ''Now give me your hands.''

She cried and pleaded with him but he forced her palms on his throat nonetheless, her fingers digging in the fresh wound. The metallic-scented liquid strained her hands and sleeves until she was completely hysteric.

''Stop ! Stop, Erik !''

''You don't like it, Christine ?''

''No, no, Erik ! Please stop ! I am going to be sick !''

Sighing he cradled her close to him and took a few steps away from the corpse. She sobbed in his chest like a child, all the while clutching his jacket, refusing to let go.

''Isn't it better ?'' Tenderly he once again seized her little hands and brought them to rest in the crook of his neck, slowly making them travel up so they would meet his own golden throat.

His was cold but not sticky. Not like Raoul's. She nodded frantically. ''Yes, yes. Much better.'' Her head was swimming. ''But I can't see you, I can't see you Erik !''

''Do you want to see Raoul de Chagny ?''

''No, no ! He is dead, oh God you killed him ! I don't want to see him, there is blood !''

''What is worst; a dead man in a bloodbath or my bare face ?''

She remained silent, shaking in his arms. ''I don't want to see any blood, I hate blood. Mamma always said –''

His fingers caressed her closed eyelids; gently he coaxed her to open them. But still there was nothing to stare upon, not even his deathly face, only darkness.

''No, dear child, you won't see any blood. I know how it scared you, but nor is Erik's face a pretty sight. We'll spare, you both, shall we? Feel me, isn't it much better than seeing me ?'' Her hands were placed on his chest as he hummed a beautiful melody. ''Feeling is so much better, you don't need anything else. And that, my love, is my gift for you; I am sparing you from the visual horrors of this world.''


End file.
